Lord of the Flies: A collection
by LadyEvils
Summary: Now up, Ch. 3: Simon
1. The last blow

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies or any of its characters.  
  
AN: Well, this is my first fanfiction, and, like a lot of the LotF fics, it was a piece of work for english. I just thought that I needed an actual story on ff.net. Reviews would be appreciated!  
  
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He sat in the small, brightly lit room. He had been here for about ten minutes now, waiting for the woman to come back with whoever she had gone to get. For what seemed like the millionth time since he had arrived, he looked around the room. It was small, with only just enough room for the wooden desk and two chairs, which was the only furniture in the room. Not that anything else would have fit into the room for it really was very small. The walls were a light cream colour, and added to the light airy atmosphere. However, he had been in here for some time now, and he noticed that it was starting to feel fake. The room was well ventilated and bright, but there were no windows, and so the light airy atmosphere lost it's charm. He didn't mind though. He's had enough of the 'great outdoors'. He was perfectly content to remain indoors for the rest of his life. It was calmer, fewer things could happen; it was a complete opposite to.  
  
He shuddered, and tried to push away any thoughts of that place out of his mind. He shook his head, chasing the thoughts away, and set his mind back on the office he sat in. He reached up and ran his hand through his recently cut hair, half expecting to find it long and matted, to come across a twig or a leaf that had become entangled within large knots that seemed to get larger every day. But his hair was short and free of tangles and knots. He frowned. He was thinking about it again.  
  
He pushed all those thoughts aside and turned his mind to why he had been brought here. He had already guessed it had something to do with his father, as it was a military building, and he had seen several people in uniforms, looking stern and serious as he had walked through the building with the woman who had been looking after him for the past week. He hoped they were going to tell him when his father was coming back. He had not seen his father for a long time, not since he had gone on that fateful aeroplane journey. He wasn't sure how long it had been exactly, he had lost track of time there.  
  
Just before he went back down that dark train of thought, the door opened. He turned in his chair to see the person entering the room. A middle aged man wearing an impressive uniform walked in. He had short, closely cropped dark brown hair, which was starting to grey at the temples, and brown, serious eyes. He was tall, and had an air of authority about him, making him seem very imposing. The man walked across the room, and he noticed the man had a limp. It was almost unnoticeable, but it was perceptible. That must be why he was here, and not off fighting somewhere, because other then that, he seemed in perfect physical health. He watched as the man sat down behind the desk.  
  
"Hello. My name is Captain Barneswood. You must be wondering why we asked you to come here."  
  
It had crossed his mind once or twice.  
  
"Well, as you know, your father had been sent off on a special mission just after you left."  
  
It had been mentioned once. Just after they had come to collect him from the naval base. He'd asked where his father was. They had told him he was on a mission. It was one of the few parts of the last week he could remember. The rest of it had blurred together, ever since he had stepped onto the boat with the other boys. He could barely remember the journey home, or what he'd had for breakfast, come to think of it.  
  
"His ship was taken over by the enemy troops, and until today we didn't know what had happened."  
  
A heavy sense of dread came over him. This wasn't what he had been expecting. He had been expecting to be told that he would be able to see his father, that he was on his way to see him at this very moment. Now it seemed as if it would be even longer till he came back. Who knows how long it would take his father to escape and get home.  
  
"I know this may be hard for you to hear, you being so young, but it was felt you had a right to know what had happened."  
  
Barneswood paused, looking him straight in the eye. He felt uncomfortable, but didn't look away. The news couldn't be too bad, as long as his father was coming home. So many terrible things had happened already, nothing would come as a shock to him now, nothing that bad could ever happen again.  
  
"The entire crew was killed."  
  
Barneswood's words hit him like a sledgehammer. It couldn't be true, he refused to believe it. The whole crew couldn't just.die. But it didn't matter really. His father wasn't part of the crew. He was a temporary commanding officer, not part of the crew.  
  
"However,"  
  
His spirit rose. There, a however. This meant that there was more to be said, about his father. He wasn't dead, there was a however.  
  
"As the commanding officer, your father was taken for questioning."  
  
There. Taken for questioning. He had to be alive.  
  
"We're not sure what happened during the questioning, but we do know what happened afterwards."  
  
He must have escaped. Now he must be hiding somewhere, waiting to come home.  
  
"I'm afraid your father was killed"  
  
There was a second after Barneswood said that, when he didn't seem to hear it. The, the words reached him, and he stared at Barneswood, frozen in shock, his eyes begging the man to say it wasn't true, that his father wasn't.was alive.  
  
The room was silent, except for the faint sounds coming from the corridor. He sat staring into space, replaying the words over and over in his mind. Your father was killed. Your father was killed. Your father was killed. Your father was. He opened his mouth to say no, to scream, to shout at Barneswood for saying it, that he was wrong, that he was lying, to burst into tears. Nothing came out. He just sat there, staring, his mouth open. Barneswood continued.  
  
"We were able to find his body, but it was believed it was originally dropped onto one of several tropical islands. It seemed as though he had been there for some time."  
  
It was at this point that a memory started to come back to him, forcing it's way into his mind. He could hear thunder rumbling and crashing, and a steady chanting. Suddenly, the chanting changed to screaming and shouting. In the background, a small voice was shouting about a body on the hill.  
  
He was trembling now. It couldn't be possible, it just couldn't. All that time, and.and image of a decaying face flashed in his mind, and he let out a small, choked cry.  
  
Barneswood looked at the boy. "I know it must be hard, hearing this, but." He paused as he noticed the look of horror on the boy's face. "Are you all right? It must come as a shock. If there's anything I can do." He trailed off again, when he showed no sign of recognition. Then, slowly, the boy raised his eyes his eyes to meet Barneswood's. They were filled with grief and terror, and something else Barneswood couldn't put his finger on. He was hesitant now, not sure of what he would find if he asked any more questions. "Ralph, are you alright?" 


	2. The one that got left behind

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies, or any of its characters. My friend Kazza owns Alfie.  
  
AN: ok, what was originally intended to be a one shot, one story thing, has now turned into a collection of short Lord of the Flies stories, all written by me and my friends for English. Hope you like them!  
  
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"Twelvety, fourteen, twoty, erm.. ninety, twenty. Coming ready or not!" Alfie put his chubby five-year old hands down and opened his eyes. Carefully he moved the branches that hid the entrance to the cave, and climbed out into the forest, cautiously stepping over any sharp twigs and stones. He turned in a complete circle, waiting for the telltale giggle that would lead him to the hiding place of his friends. It didn't come. He walked a little further into the forest, and saw something move behind a tree. Alfie smiled to himself and crept closer as fast as his bare legs could carry him. He took a deep breath and pounced behind the tree. "Found you! Found you!" but there was no one there, it had just been a branch in the breeze. Disheartened, he continued to walk deeper into the forest searching for his friends. He was frustrated now, he had thought he was the bestest hide-and-seeker ever. He never cheated, even when he had heard shouting and running outside he had stayed in the cave with his hands clamped over his eyes, counting as best he could. It was harder to count now. Mummy had helped him learn but he had forgotten, he had even nearly forgotten Mummy. Alfie put this thought to the back of his mind and carried on looking. The forest began to get cooler, and Alfie's stomach rumbled so loudly that it surprised even him. He wandered off to a tree with tasty looking berries on it, and reached as high as he could to get to the best fruit. He jumped and grabbed a handful of berries, letting the pink-purple juice run down his dirty fingers. As he licked the juice off his hands, he wished Simon were there to help him. Simon had been the best fruit-picker. He hadn't seen Simon for a while, maybe he had gone on one of his walks in the forest? Or maybe he'd gone for a swim? Alfie didn't know.  
  
After eating as much fruit as he could pick, Alfie decided he had had enough of this game. Where were his friends? He was cross with them now, didn't they know that it was getting late? He called out into the forest for them "George! Nicholas! Percival!", but the sound of the evening breeze whispering through the trees was the only thing that answered him. He called out again, this time more desperately. Still no one answered. He threw himself down on the floor and folded his arms. "I don't want to play anymore. This is a silly game. Come out. I don't want to play!". Alfie looked up, expecting to see three grinning faces. But no one was there. Maybe they had gone down onto the beach to build a sandcastle or something? Yes, that would be it, they liked playing with the sand. With this fresh inspiration Alfie leapt up and ran back the way he had come. He skipped onto the beach, kicking the sand as he went. He dipped a toe into the shallow blue water that crawled up the beach and kissed the golden sand. It wasn't too cold. He walked in the cool water for a while, after all, why should his silly friends have all the fun? He called out for them again, sure this time that they would answer. They would all meet up, and go and find some lovely fruit to eat and then they could play another game or they could find a nice spot to sleep in. Still no one came. He looked out at the disappearing sun sinking slowly into the sea. But then he noticed something, a black object sailing out into the ocean. He looked closer and realised that it was the silhouette of a ship. A ship! He knew he must do something, but what? He should tell Ralph, yes that's what he should do. Ralph was always talking to the big boys about going home in a ship. But where was Ralph? Alfie glanced around but the beach was deserted. He turned back to the ship. A look of confusion appeared on his fruit-stained face. The ship was smaller than it had been before, he could hardly see it at all now. It was getting further away from him and the island. Oh well, it was just a ship, he was sure that another one would come along soon to rescue him and all the other boys.  
  
It was darker now, and Alfie was getting tired. He wanted to keep looking for the other boys before he gave in to the night. He didn't like night- time, it was when he thought of home and his blue bedroom, or was it green? Mummy wouldn't have anyone to read a story to tonight, and he had no one to tuck him in. He sat down against a tree and closed his eyes. He wished he still had his clothes, he was cold now. He had never liked his Sunday best before but now he didn't have any clothes he would have worn them happily. Anyway, it was probably best that he didn't have them. Last time he had seen them they had been torn and dirty, he didn't want Mummy to be cross. He felt lonely now, and hungry. Why had he wanted to play that silly hide and seek game? He only wanted to prove that he was the bestest seeker, and now it seemed like his friends were too good at hiding for him. But why hadn't they looked for him? They had been playing for hours, hadn't they noticed he wasn't with them? Maybe they didn't like him after all...  
  
Alfie was woken the next morning by the buzz of flies surrounding his head. He sat up and rubbed a sticky hand over his face, brushing off the soil that had stuck there during the night. What should he do today? Oh yes, he had to look for the other boys. He began to climb to the top of the highest rock, the one where.where Jack had.and Piggy had.He should be able to see everything from up there. He grabbed some berries on the way, and shoved them into his mouth. Finally he reached the top of the rock. He looked down at the island below him. He couldn't see anyone. He shouted out "Ralph! Simon! Percival! Anyone?". He shouted as loud as he could but no one replied. He was alone on the island. As this realisation struck him, he stepped back ad gasped. He felt like he couldn't breathe, he couldn't even cry. He was alone on an island, in the middle of nowhere. Where had everyone gone? Maybe they did make an airplane, as someone had once suggested during a meeting. But why didn't they take him with them? That was a mean trick. What should he do now? In a daze, he stumbled down the rock and through the forest. He ran as fast as he could until he could run no more. He collapsed onto the forest floor and wailed. Exhausted by weeping, he fell into restless sleep. He dreamed about a fruit tree. It was a small tree, perfect size for Alfie, and it held plump, juicy berries. As Alfie reached for the fruit, he realised that the fruit was in fact other things. On the end of one branch was his mother, on another his father, on another was a ship, and on another were the rest of the boys. As he reached for these things, the tree grew and grew until he couldn't reach them anymore.  
  
When he woke up it was night-time again. Pitch-blackness surrounded him, and the trees seemed to whisper to him. He shut his eyes tight and tried as hard as he could to go to sleep again. He would get up later. If the others had made an airplane, then he could make one too. He was a big boy, Mummy always said. He wondered if Mummy would bake a cake for him when he got home. He hoped it would be a chocolate one. He liked chocolate. He would fly home in his airplane, and run into the house. Mummy would come out of the kitchen and pick him up in her arms. And Daddy would come home from work early especially. But how do you make an airplane? He was sure it couldn't be too hard.  
  
When it got lighter, Alfie walked around the forest collecting useful looking sticks, and humming a made-up tune to himself. He gathered them up in his arms and made his way to the beach, leaving an accidental trail of dropped sticks behind him. He reached the beach and sat down on the hot sand. Carefully and calmly, he laid out all of the sticks in size order. He paused and looked at them thoughtfully. He frowned. What I really need is some of Daddy's tools, a hammer and some nails, and some more sticks, and one of those whirry things that they have in motorcars, an engine, that was what it was called. He couldn't make a proper plane without them. He held two sticks together, closed his eyes and hoped that they would magically join together so he could begin to make his airplane. He opened one eye, hardly daring to peek. He opened both of his eyes and sighed. Maybe magic only worked in England. He tried again. And again. Nothing happened. How could the other boys have left the island if they hadn't built an airplane? Then he remembered the ship he had seen, and the shouting he had heard while he was counting in the cave, and he realised. They had forgotten him. 


	3. Simon

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies, or any of its characters.  
  
AN: Well this is the third in my little series, written by my friend Alicio. Read and enjoy. By the way, I have also developed a great love of reviews, so please, any comments would be appreciated!  
  
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He had grown to ten times his normal size, and could easily pick his father up and throw him far, far away, where he could never hurt anyone ever again... suddenly he heard his mother's voice, high and terrified, screaming...  
  
Simon jerked out of his sleep with a start. But his mother's screaming didn't end with the dream. Cautiously, quietly, he sidled around his bedroom door and down the stairs. His nose told him what had happened before he saw it. The sharp reek of lager and cigarettes meant his father was home. Another scream ripped the air, and he jumped, rattling the creaky floorboard. Suddenly the kitchen door was ripped open, and his father burst out. Simon cowered away, terrified of the roaring beast that grabbed him by the hair and threw him into the kitchen. His mother was leaning against the table gasping for air, her hair matted with blood. He ran to her side, but his father raised his hand and almost at once, everything went black.  
  
For the second time that day, Simon awoke not quite knowing where he was. As he opened his eyes, he saw his father's face, eyes bloodshot, breath stinking of cheap alcohol. Simon flinched, and his father leaned closer. Simon could hardly breathe, partly from fright and partly from the huge hand that covered his mouth and nose. His father's voice hissed in his ear,  
  
"Tell anyone what happened and I'll kill you. Do you understand?"  
  
Simon couldn't move or think. His mind was dark with terror and loathing, and he did not know what to do.  
  
"I asked you a question, Simon. Do you understand?"  
  
This time he managed to incline his head a fraction and his father, satisfied, stepped back. Simon gulped in the sweet fresh air and closed his eyes.  
  
***  
  
As he lay there, trying to remember what had happened before, the nurse came in. He had met her before, she was young and pretty and friendly and had sat and stroked his hair when the nightmares came. He thought her name was Jill.  
  
"Hello young Simon! Fancy seeing you here! Do you remember me? I'm Jane."  
  
Jane, that was it. He didn't reply to her buzz of cheerful conversation, but lay there and let it wash over him, a comforting blanket of sound.  
  
"Simon dear, are you alright? I asked you a question that I'm afraid you have to answer. How did you hit your head?"  
  
"I - I - I fell and bashed my head."  
  
Was it his imagination or did she look disappointed?  
  
"Simon -"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing, it doesn't matter. Would you like to see your mother now?"  
  
He nodded. He wasn't sure if he did want to see his mother, but it was too late now. She burst into the room, her head bound up in a bandage with a black eye and a swollen nose. She looked wildly around and, seeing him, ran to him and clutched him to her. He smelt the rancid smell of vomit on her, and pulled back. She grabbed his head in both her hands and looked at him.  
  
"What did you say to her?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"That tarty nurse that was in here just now. What did you say happened?"  
  
"I fell and hit my head. But Mum-"  
  
"Thank God! Your father has been so worried. He does love you very much you know. He just gets very stressed - he doesn't know what he's doing sometimes!"  
  
"But Mum -"  
  
"But nothing!" She was beginning to get distressed and he didn't want to upset her. But he knew that something had to be said.  
  
"Mum, he's - he's - Dad's - he's - " But he couldn't say it. Not to her.  
  
***  
  
"Home at last! Are you glad to be home, boy?"  
  
"Yes Dad."  
  
"Don't mumble, Simon."  
  
"Sorry Dad."  
  
Exasperated, his father pushed open the door and strode into the kitchen. He turned the radio on, and Simon was preparing to slink up the stairs without anyone noticing when an exclamation from his father made him turn round. His father reached over to the radio and turned the volume up, so Simon could hear it loud and clear,  
  
"Britain is at war. Evacuations from central London will be made immediately. Child evacuees will be dealt with through schools. All men under the age of 35 who are healthy and fit must join up as soon as possible. Exceptions may be made for single parent fathers. Air raids are possible, and -"  
  
With a violent movement, Simon's father turned the radio off. He turned to Simon, and the boy could see cold calculation in his piercing blue eyes. With two strides his father was by his side, grasping his shoulder.  
  
"Listen boy -" Simon could hear something new in his voice. Was it - fear?  
  
"I am going to be forced to join the army. Whilst you and your mother will be evacuated somewhere nice where you will be safe, I'll have to go and fight in a war. Do you understand what that means?" Simon nodded. "I knew you would. You're a good boy Simon, you know that? But to get out of this one, you will have to help me. Can you do that?"  
  
Simon didn't move. The grip on his shoulder tightened until it became painful. He nodded, and the grip loosened.  
  
"Good boy. We are going to have to pretend that you don't have a mother, and that I can't leave because I'm all you have. OK?"  
  
"Yes Dad."  
  
"Now, it's going to be hard to get rid of your mother. She's going to be unwilling to leave you, but I'm sure I can persuade her..."  
  
***  
  
As his mother came in through the door, Simon had a sudden sense of foreboding. Something bad was going to happen, he could feel it. He didn't know what it was, but something terrible was about to happen.  
  
He heard his father call his mother into the kitchen. He heard her light footsteps going into the kitchen. He heard his father explain what he wanted her to do. He heard her vehement refusals. He heard raised voices and he heard a dull thud and a cry. He heard his father run from the house.  
  
He staggered down the stairs and into the kitchen. His mother was lying on the floor, blood pooling around her head. He knelt down beside her, and saw the rolling pin by her side, covered in blood. He turned away and was sick until his stomach was empty. Simon knew one of his times was coming on. His body was arched and stiff. Simon found he was looking into a vast mouth. There was a blackness within, a blackness that spread. Simon was inside the mouth. He fell down and lost consciousness.  
  
His father walked in through the door, two policemen behind him. He was explaining that he had walked in and found his wife lying on the floor, dead. He didn't know how it had happened. A botched burglary, perhaps? He was devastated. Really upset. The three of them walked in and found the two bodies. The small one stirred and moved its head. The big one didn't move. The small one sat up and looked at the father. The father ran to him and picked him up, the picture of a loving parent. The policemen turned away, and missed the father hissing urgently into the small one's ear, and the small one nodding slowly.  
  
***  
  
Simon and his father lined up outside the small office. They were going to explain that day, how his mother had been tragically killed and his father was his only remaining relative. He knew what he had to do. They talked to the kind lady, and she asked his father to remain outside while she talked to Simon alone. He knew that this was the one time that he could expose his father for the coward and bully that he was. He could do it now, and his father would have to go to war. He knew what was right.  
  
Simon walked out of the office with lead in his feet. He looked at the man who had killed his mother, and looked away, loathing himself for what he had just done. The lady walked out, looking serious.  
  
"Thank you, that will be all. Both you and Simon will be evacuated on the 3rd December, separate aeroplanes I'm afraid, he has to go with the other children."  
  
They nodded.  
  
"Goodbye Simon. I'll see you when we land. Well done, son."  
  
Simon couldn't reply. He followed the other boys onto the plane. 


End file.
